For the past several days, Dwain had been on edge. Sedrik never warned him of the exact dates of a heist. The ball was only a couple of days away, which meant the thief might appear on any of the coming nights—nor with empty hands, but bearing a prize beyond any reckoning, having wrought a deed that would make the whole city shudder.

  What came next was impossible to foresee. And did it even need foreseeing? If all went awry, only the thief would pay with his life. Yet fortune promised not merely great coin, but trouble. Louazier and the guild would begin hunting the treasure; they would scour the entire kingdom, if need be, and sooner or later they would reach the charming dwerg—and the stone in his possession. What they would do to him was terrifying to imagine.

  He could refuse. Coin did not matter to Sed, nor his own life. He would either find another buyer, or toss the stone into the river, satisfied that he had outplayed the guild. The thoughts came heavy, and each time Dwain found new arguments for and against, until at last he made his choice.

  “A chance like this comes once in a lifetime,” he thought, remembering his father’s example. The old man had not been afraid to risk it and had brought the whole family up to the surface. And what might one achieve with such wealth? What doors would it open? There was only one way to learn—by seeing the business through. Content, he returned to one of his favorite pastimes after food and drink: counting.

  The clatter of knuckles on the counting board drowned the tinkling of the bell. Crossing to the door, the dwerg flicked a glance into the little mirror by the entrance, recognized the visitor, and hastily opened.

  No sooner had he done so than something large shot past him like a black whirlwind. Dwain managed only to flinch aside, and when he turned, he saw a long-tailed creature leap onto the table.

  — Hey! Hey! Beast, out of here! Sed, who is that?!

  Baffled, he looked to Sedrik, whose face was gloomier than usual.

  — What happened?

  While the cat stared at the candles with keen interest, the partners began to speak. Briefly, but with substance, the thief told him everything. By the middle of the tale, Dwain had clutched his head, feeling each new word strike him like a hammer.

  — If I’d known, I would’ve told you. Looks like the beast was brought into the city recently, and the rumors hadn’t made it beyond the estate.

  — The guild knew, — Sed said with certainty. — They came for papers, not the “stone.”

  — Blackmail?

  — Letters, maps, plans… I don’t know. But they certainly weren’t after a cat. Guy would never have pointed me the right way for nothing. He wanted to be rid of me.

  — What became of them?

  — No idea, — the thief let out a breath.

  — Either way, for the next few days you’d best lie low. I’ll keep you informed.

  Sed gave a nod.

  Dwain shifted his gaze to the animal and stepped closer, curious. It eyed him distrustfully and, hissing, backed away.

  — So, she can talk? — he asked, as though trying to distract himself.

  — She makes sounds. In any tongue a man can understand, she knows only “want,” “give,” and “shiny.”

  — Well then, for these parts that’s already a lot, — the dwerg smirked, and drawing a coin from his pocket, he at once seized the beast’s attention.

  — Aze! Aze! Give! — the cat shrieked, darting up to him.

  — Well, I’ll be—so it’s true!

  With a snap of his fingers, he flicked the coin into the air. “Sapphire” sprang, caught it, and quickly scampered off to a corner.

  — A black cat… — Dwain said. — Maybe it’s a sign from higher powers, seeing as the Twins are black cats too.

  — Don’t even speak of them.

  — I won’t, I won’t, — the dwerg lifted his hands in exaggerated surrender. — She looks like a verida.

  — I thought the same. By her manner, she’s a young one, yet she’s already the size of a grown cellas.

  — I’ve heard tales of the southern continent. Sailors say there are things there we’ve never seen.

  — What does it matter. Can we get anything for her?

  Dwain shook his head.

  — Hard to say. Not everyone will buy live goods as it is, and besides, we don’t know how Louazier will behave.

  — Do with her as you please. Sell her, throw her into the street—I don’t care.

  With that, Sedrik rose and headed for the door.

  — Hey! So, you’re leaving her with me?! — came from behind him.

  — I have no need of a pet.

  The door slammed, and silence settled over the shop—only to be broken at once by a rustle and a dull thump. Dwain turned, not knowing where to look: at the parchments drifting to the floor, or at the new “pet.”

  “Sapphire,” worrying about nothing at all, was already inspecting the oak counter with brass weighing bowls set into the tabletop. Clambering onto it—and scratching the wood as she went—she drew a claw across the metal. A thin, piercing note rang out, and Dwain flinched as though struck.

  — Hey! Don’t touch that! — he shouted, but it was too late.

  The cat was enchanted by movement, as if by magic. She nudged one of the bowls with her nose—it rocked, and the counterweight on the other side trembled. Then again, and again. The bowl began to wobble in earnest, and a weight slid off and fell to the floor. Enraptured, “Sapphire” jumped down to catch her prize.

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  The weight rolled straight beneath a massive oak cabinet with countless little drawers, where samples of coins, alloys, and seals were kept in perfect order. “Sapphire” lunged after it, skidded on the parquet, and cracked her head into the cabinet door. The rattling impact echoed through the quiet. Several drawers slid out from the jolt, spilling their contents.

  Unable to watch it, Dwain rushed toward the cat—but she sprang away. Her gaze locked onto the slate board on the wall, covered in columns of neat figures. She leapt, hooking her claws into the wooden frame. With a crack the board tore free of its nail and crashed to the floor, shattering into several sharp shards.

  If moneychangers ever had nightmares, his was living itself out in the flesh.

  “Damn you, Sed!”

  The dwerg didn’t know what to do. Shouting was useless, and going closer was dangerous. And what for? He could simply let her out into the street, and all his troubles would end.

  “Far too wasteful. Only a fool treats such exotic stock that way. Besides—pity her.”

  Another option was to call for help, bind her, and return her to Louazier.

  “Risky. They’ll start questioning at once, and I can’t draw that kind of attention.”

  Over years of work, he’d learned to squeeze the most profit from any situation.

  “Catch her first. Plans later.”

  As always, reason came to his rescue. Only reason ever saved him at times like this.

  “She isn’t an ordinary beast. If she understands the speech of her kind, then…”

  — Aze! — he said, watching for her reaction.

  She turned her head; her ears twitched.

  — Shiny! Aze! Aze… — rummaging in the nearest cupboard, the dwerg pulled out a hefty copper bracelet.

  “Sapphire” took the bait and, as though bewitched, followed the outstretched hand until Dwain drew a rope from beneath the table. He laid the bracelet down nearby, and the moment the cat pounced, he slipped the rope through the ring on her collar. There was little struggle. She did not even grasp what had happened, teeth sunk into the bracelet as she tried in vain to bite through the metal.

  — So you’re hungry, are you? — Dwain asked, and heard her stomach grumble.

  An idea came to him. He tied the rope to a beam, fetched a piece of cheese from a chest, and fastened it with another cord to the handle of a lantern—making something like a fishing rod. Catching the scent, “Sapphire” craned her muzzle upward. The dwerg untied the rope from the beam, wound it around his hand, and lifted the “rod” as high as he could. From the side it looked ridiculous, but now the cat went where he needed her to—toward the “Spicy Boar.”

  It was the darkest hour before dawn. Though Dwain had left the underdepths long ago, he still saw well in the dark. Following familiar narrow alleys, moving quieter than a shadow, he reached the tavern—though the time felt like an eternity. Anxiety gnawed at him that someone might see them, yet it was better to risk it than to leave this monster in his office. The cold bit hard; the cat grumbled and trembled.

  — Hold on. Soon you’ll eat your fill and warm up.

  The whole affair felt like a fever dream. A huge cat, dark streets, houses that seemed ready to close over one’s head.

  At last, they came to the tavern’s back door. His special arrangement with the hostess brought privileges—there was a key in his pocket.

  Colette was counting the takings by candlelight when she heard the door open. Startled, she went down the rear corridor and found Dwain on the threshold with an enormous cat, finishing off a piece of cheese.

  — And what is this? — her brows climbed.

  Dwain raised his hands, palms forward.

  — Evening, beauty. I’ve brought you a visitor.

  There was fresh fish in a barrel. Colette, still frowning, set it down. “Sapphire” fell upon the food with a low rumble, making short work of it. At once she demanded a second portion, then a third, nudging her damp nose against the empty plate.

  — Pazu! Pazu! Give! Give!

  The hostess brought another portion and, arms crossed over her chest, watched her eat. Sated at last, the cat made her way to a bucket of water, drank long and loud, then lay down on the floor and began licking a paw.

  — Maybe now you’ll tell me something, — Colette asked, not uncrossing her arms.

  — I need her to stay with you a couple of days. No more. Until I figure out where to put her.

  — ARE YOU MOCKING ME?! — the woman shrieked so sharply that “Sapphire” sprang to her feet, fur bristling, tail stiff as a pipe. — THAT THING WILL EAT ALL MY SUPPLIES!

  — She’s not an ogre, after all, — Dwain lowered his voice, making a calming gesture. — Don’t overdo it.

  — I don’t have time for this! — Colette jabbed a finger toward the cat, who, settling again, lay down and paid them no mind.

  — Two, three days, — the dwerg insisted; his voice took on that even, businesslike tone he used when haggling. — Let her be warm and fed here. That’s all she needs.

  Colette wanted to protest, but pressed her lips tight. For all her temper, she remembered how much Dwain had done for her.

  — No more than three days, — she breathed, letting her shoulders drop.

  — Thank you, beauty.

  Colette sighed, covered her face with her hands, and slowly drew her palms from brow to chin, as if wiping away a mask of weariness and irritation.

  — Does she have a name?

  — Reri.

  Colette looked at him in surprise.

  — And who gave her that?

  — I did. Just look at her—black cat, just like the Twins. One is Ren, the other Rin; take the first two letters and you get Renrin. Or we can just do Rin, after the sister.

  — Then take her for yourself. We’ll see how long your office lasts, but in my tavern, there will be no creature with such a name.

  — Oh, come now, it’s a fine idea! And it sounds good.

  — I said no, — the woman crossed her arms and lifted her chin. — I’ve no need of a dessia’s attention on top of everything else.

  — All right, if you’re that superstitious, what do you suggest?

  — “Inkblot,” “Soot”…

  — You’ve no taste at all.

  — What does it matter? We’re not naming a daughter.

  — Fine. We’ll build from what we have.

  — And what do we have?

  — She has a lot of words with “Ze” and “Se.” Maybe she’ll answer better to a name that sounds familiar…

  — Something like Zeri or Siri?

  — Closer already. I propose Rize.

  — You even manage to bargain here, — Colette glanced at the cat, biting her lip. — Fine. Why not. I have to go—need to keep an eye on the ale.

  — No. There’s one more thing.

  — What now?

  — A basin of water, a sack of flour, and a file.